


2:46 am

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 04:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11051202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: he remembers.





	2:46 am

**Author's Note:**

> headcanon that he was only 16 when he died, and that he was born june 16th.

To him, sixteen was a significant number.

Sixteen, the minimum number of women he’d seduced, the number of sorts of food he’d tried (and failed) to cook, the number of the day he was born on.

Sixteen, the age at which he had died.

Funny, he hadn't thought about it in a long time. A very, very long time. He sighed. It sounded metallic, robotic. He’d gotten over his death, of course, but what— no, who he was now was something he didn't think he could get used to anytime soon.

It was 2:46 in the morning, and he was tired. The room that housed him was fairly warm, but there was an underlying chill. The door was closed but the window wasn’t. He sighed again, arguing with himself over whether or not he should get up and shut it. 

He gave into his want for warmth and forced himself upwards, forced himself off the bed. He didn't sleep with a blanket, it would just get kicked off anyways. He was not still in sleep; he never was.

The window slid shut easily, and he locked it but didn't step away. It was dark and still outside. To be expected at this hour, really.

His hands rested on the windowsill, armor off— not silvery and hard anymore, but the pale brown tone of synthetic skin. 

Synthetic.

 _SinˈTHedik._ Adjective.

Of a substance— made by chemical synthesis, especially to imitate a natural product.

Chemical. An imitation.

False, one might say.

He let out a dry chuckle. Yes, synthetic. Synthetic organs, synthetic skin, synthetic everything. Only part of his torso, his head, and his left arm remained. How sad.

His hair was black, sleek and shiny, roots having long since faded back. It had been years, after all.

He stood for a while, and was only half-surprised to feel a wetness on his face.

Wiping the tears away and turning from the window, he walked, slowly, to the bathroom. The sun was nowhere near beginning to rise.

Genji was going to dye his hair green today.


End file.
